


the fuller sets the tenter frame, or: stretched so thin and when it breaks

by Boomkin



Series: Greg the Horse [3]
Category: British Actor RPF, The Witcher (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Domus Solaris, Griffith Observatory, Hand Jobs, Hollywood, Horny Men Being Horny, Los Angeles, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Third Person Limited, Phone Conversations, Phone Sex, Pining, Prostate Milking, Roleplay, Slice of Life, Sunsets, Talkative Sex, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boomkin/pseuds/Boomkin
Summary: In which Joey travels to Los Angeles for a recording session and finds that his patience for the city is limited. It all boils down to Henry, who has unwittingly left his lover in the lurch while filming away on location for the past month. However, Madeleine is certain that everything will right itself if Joey would just go and watch the damn sunset!Basically a triptych of Joey’s exploits in L.A. (post-pandemic)
Relationships: Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland, Joey Batey/Henry Cavill
Series: Greg the Horse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866055
Comments: 37
Kudos: 64





	1. Los Angeles, I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This work should actually be titled: “frustration, pining, and graphic sex,” but I have standards, so I had to come up with something else.
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, I’m really nervous about this one, but in the words of Willa Cather, “I decided not to 'write' at all, – simply to give myself up to the pleasure of recapturing in memory people and places I'd forgotten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Minor edits made 9/26/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**Los Angeles, I’m Yours**

_O great calamity,_

_Den of iniquity and tears_

_How I abhor this place_

_Its sweet and bitter taste_

_Has left me wretched, retching on all fours_

_Los Angeles, I'm yours_

_— The Decemberists_

The descent is usually unpleasant and though he’s certain that this one will be no exception, its catalyst is straightforward. If he’s lucky, the pilot will ease down with enough grace so that when the landing gear connects with the tarmac, it won’t feel as though his stomach is about to get sucked up through his throat and launched into the atmosphere. Unfortunately, this pilot is rather clumsy and he is not the only one jostled and jerked about in their seat, trying to gain their bearings while the brakes emit a deafening roar through the cabin. 

It’s what comes afterwards that has him perplexed. Somehow the average passenger fails to realize that wheels on the ground do not equate to being “up and at ‘em” in five minutes flat. No, since this is a large international airport, decorum dictates that they must taxi along the runway for at least twenty minutes while the pilot waits for a jetway to become available. Regardless, he’s curious to see how many people are audacious enough to stand before the seatbelt sign goes off. _The count is currently at two._

It’s a tease, quite honestly. After an eleven hour, non-stop flight out of Heathrow, Joey is positively itching to stretch out his long, wiry legs and breathe something other than stale, recycled air into his lungs. There’s a sort of anxiety that comes with it. It’s not as though he hasn’t moved at all because he does, in fact, stand up every hour and do a little walk about to keep his muscles happy. Rather, it's like crawling towards land after being stranded at sea for an age. It’s starting at the top of a high rise and having to stop the elevator at every floor on the way down. It’s a great impatience. 

The air hostess bids them a dry welcome to Los Angeles and because this is a British Airways flight, she subsequently warns them of the thirty degree centigrade weather that is most imminent. A cacophony of groans and grumbles erupts like a shockwave through the aisles in reaction to that bit of information. He’s not surprised in the least. It _is_ a British Airways flight after all. Joey sighs and rubs the heel of his hand into his left eye. 

_Well isn’t this just tickety boo, as Madeleine would say._

Somehow, up until this point in his life, he had managed to avoid a visit to L.A. during the summer months and, as luck would have it, Southern California was in the midst of a heat wave. Although, Lauren had explained to him that weather forecasts were a moot point in her neck of the woods because it was never anything but blazing hot in mid-August. _August. It’s now August._ That reminds him, he’s kept silent count of the number of days that have passed since he last saw Henry in person. _Thirty-five days and counting. Also, it’s now five and counting for the other thing. Fuck me, I’m not even a numbers person._

“You haven’t been away from him like this since it all began,” Madeleine, in her infinite wisdom, had pointed out. “Give yourself a break. I mean, I miss glimpsing his gorgeous face when he brings you home, so I can’t even imagine how you feel.” She had tried to go for humour, but it fell flat, leaving Joey even more perturbed as he came to grips with the fact that his boyfriend had left him weak and wanting at all hours of the day. 

Joey pulls his mobile from his pocket and checks the time. If he’s correct, they should have another ten minutes before the plane comes to a full and complete stop. He switches off airplane mode and waits for the inevitable onslaught of texts that will be pushed in rapid succession once the network finds a way to connect. 

The pinging begins not two minutes later and although he quickly fumbles to silence it, he’s too late. Despite the wide berth between them, the elderly man in the aisle seat has peeled open an eye to shoot a nasty look his way. _Apparently the bloke’s got delicate ears._

“Erm, sorry,” Joey mumbles. The man crosses his arms and harrumphs, pulling a flat cap over his eyes that bears a fancy looking crest and proceeds to snore like a foghorn. Joey squints and leans closer to read the words “St. Andrew’s Links” embroidered below crossed golf clubs framed in laurels. “Entitled toff,” he grunts under his breath. 

An array of notifications litter his screen: emails from his travel coordinator that no doubt include an itinerary for the next few days; screenshots of an annotated script from Lauren with the words “I had another idea” attached; noise from his DnD group; and a singular text from Madeleine. 

Nothing from Henry. 

He sighs heavily and opens his conversation with Madeleine. 

“Raising my glass to a good trip as I send this,” she writes. “ And don’t forget, if any randos come up to you in a public toilet saying they can make you famous, remember what we talked about.” Joey suppresses a laugh and shakes his head. He wants to bite back with a snappy retort, but he’s lost his edge to a pang of wistfulness. It’s always difficult, being away from her grounding presence. 

“Thank you for taking the piss, darling. You know exactly how to make me homesick. Just landed and it’s hot as balls apparently. Wish me luck. Us Brits aren’t meant to thrive like this.” She responds moments later. 

“Yikes. Hope you got a place with proper air con. If not, I’d use that per diem for a hotel.” Joey purses his lips. 

“Absolutely not. I asked for something quiet and out of the way. I’m sure it’s at least got a fan.” He stares at his screen, waiting for the ellipsis bubble to appear, but it doesn’t come, which means she’s either distracted or passed out on the sofa.

The intercom crackles for a moment, signaling to Joey that the air hostess is about to make an announcement. He checks the time and realizes it’s been well over twenty minutes now. _The count is back down to two. I suppose the other three wore themselves out._ Quickly scanning the vicinity, he finds that most of the passengers look restless sitting at the edge of their seats, backs straight, arms crossed, feet tapping impatiently. The old man next to him continues his journey in dreamland, however. 

With perfect timing, the air hostess announces that they will be deboarding the plane at a remote terminal which is separate from the main hub, meaning they will have to wait for a bus to pick them up and take them over to baggage claim. Collective whispering fills the air with a few groans mixed in for good measure. Joey sighs again and runs his hands through his messy hair, giving his scalp a little massage. He doesn’t even have checked baggage. 

_Tickety fucking boo, indeed._

* * *

The remote terminal, as it turns out, is not actually a terminal, but a sort of annex that boasts a small waiting area, a single vending machine, and toilets around the back. One of the two fans on the ceiling is broken, but Joey’s not sure it makes a difference anyway due to the extreme heat, so he opts to stand outside while he waits for the fabled bus to arrive. 

He sends a quick text to the travel coordinator, letting her know of his delay and then promptly drops his pack on the ground before crouching next to it, leaning back against the entrance wall. Most of the passengers have gone inside, save for a few stragglers. It’s eerily silent, though the sound of aircraft engines can be heard in the distance every few minutes. He squints behind a pair of sunglasses. Several metres away, pockets of dead grass stand tall in the fissures of the faded tarmac and he could swear he saw a tumbleweed passing by. _Are we in a fucking Western now? Where’s the bloody cow skull?_

He stares down at his boots and counts to ten _(again with the counting!)_ before opening his conversation with Henry, studying the latest exchange between them. He had tried to set up a time for a video call, but there just wasn’t enough room in Henry’s schedule. “I’m so sorry, love,” he had said. “This week will be even more hectic since it’s my last one before getting back.” They were due to start production on the third season of _The Witcher_ in a few weeks, meaning Henry had a back to back filming schedule with little reprieve in between. 

_Will he even want to see me? Maybe he just wants the time to himself to sleep and do some gaming? But he must miss me though...he’s said as much..._

It’s true, Henry ends every conversation with variations of “I miss you, I love you, etc.,” but it’s reached a point where the words feel hollow over text and do little more than cause a sense of yearning despair on the phone. Joey plops down to sit directly on the hot pavement, wiping the sweat from his forehead along his knees before resting it against them.

_I can’t think anymore._

The bus finally arrives after twenty minutes and it’s a cramped, sticky excursion over to the main terminals. He sends a heartfelt thanks to all the gods for having the foresight to pack light, as he’s only brought his canvas holdall. Otherwise, he would be standing around for at least _another_ twenty minutes. By the time he reaches the passenger loading area, his armpits are soaked and his chest and back are damp and that’s not embarrassing at all, riding in a stranger’s vehicle only to saturate the upholstery with sweat. On his way through the revolving door, Joey receives a text from the travel coordinator letting him know that his driver will arrive shortly. 

He takes a seat on one of the concrete benches near the curb and tries with all his might to stop sweating, but the heat is only getting worse. Checking the time, 3:45 p.m. to be exact, he wipes his brow with his forearm and waits. Exhaustion starts to creep in as well as hunger. It’s nearly midnight as far as he’s concerned, and if he were at home he would either be at Henry’s reading in bed while he sleeps, or laid out with Madeleine on their sofa watching telly. In either scenario, there would be cuddling, and he could really do with being held at the moment. 

Ten minutes later and a luxury SUV pulls up in front of him. _Beverly Hills Porsche. How convenient._ The window rolls down to reveal a young woman, probably around Anya’s age if he’s guessing, along with a waft of some ghastly smelling air freshener. He wrinkles his nose. 

“You Joey?” she asks behind a pair of aviators. Joey makes an affirmative noise. “Cool,” she mutters. He waits for her to introduce herself, but she turns away and apparently that’s that.

“Erm, right...” He shakes his head, gathering himself before climbing into the front seat. The young woman presses a button on the centre console, producing a cold blast of air that hits him as he slides into the cab and he can't help the pleased moan that escapes the back of his throat. 

“Feeling a little warm?” she asks, awkwardly trying for sarcasm. Joey turns to her but she’s busy looking through her rear view mirror in an attempt to merge onto the throughway. 

“It’s blazing hot outside. I don’t know how anyone can stand it,” Joey decries with the prim air of a true Englishman. 

“You get used to it,” she explains, holding out a cold bottle of water for him to take. Joey makes another embarrassing noise as he grabs the proffered beverage and proceeds to gulp down over half the bottle. While doing so, he surveys the items along the dashboard. There’s an array of CBD infused gum and mints, a lighter, an empty bottle of Health-Aid Kombucha, and one of those cardboard air fresheners shaped like a pine tree. Hanging from the rear view mirror is a lanyard with a Netflix badge attached to it. He grabs hold of it for a closer look. 

“Erm, right,” Joey says. “I’ve got a question for you, ah...Marianna?” 

“Yeah that’s me. What’s up?” He stares at her profile for a second, wondering if it’s worth trying to figure out what her deal is. 

“Erm, about how long will it take to reach my lodgings?” She clicks her tongue in thought. 

“Uh, well there’s traffic, obviously, so like thirty-five minutes? Ooh, but there’s an accident, so maybe an hour?” Joey hangs his head in resignation. 

_Sleep. I just want to sleep. I don’t care anymore. I’m fucking done._

If Marianna notices his internal struggle, she says nothing. Instead, she follows signs for I-405 North and it’s a slow crawl along the overpass to get on the actual freeway. Joey leans his head back and shuts his eyes, hoping to nod off for a bit and recharge.

A few moments pass and then, 

“So what’s your deal? You’re an actor, right?” Joey makes a pained noise. _Cock._

“Yeah,” he replies weakly. 

Marianna babbles on. “Should I know who you are? Sorry. They don’t tell me much beforehand and I drive a lot of people around who aren't, like, super famous, so I don’t always know.” 

“‘S alright,” he slurs, eyes still closed. “I’m in _The Witcher._ I play the bard.” He can hear her fiddle with the tin of mints on the dash. 

“That’s cool. I’ll have to check it out.” Joey has a strong suspicion that she will not, in fact, check it out, but he keeps mum. _Not worth it._ Without any follow-up, he drifts off again, letting the bumpy road jostle him as he fades out. 

“So what brings you here exactly? ADR work? Oh god! I hope not. Literally every person I drive around is in town for that. So boring!” 

Joey rolls his head over to her direction and forces his eyes open because as much as he wants to tell her to piss off, she _is_ driving him around for the next hour and if he’s lucky, afterwards, he can get her to take him to a shop that sells wine so he can cash in on that per diem. _Don’t be a prick. She’s doing you a favour. Granted, they’re paying her for it, but still…_

“Boring, yeah?” He chuckles haughtily, laying on the charm despite his fatigue. “I take it you have no interest in post-production work then.” 

Joey clearly strikes a chord with his supposition because suddenly Marianna launches into a whole spiel on the subject, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. _Holy cock, it’s like her voice has gone up a whole octave._

In the midst of her spiel, she mentions working as a runner for Netflix while doing some side projects to try and break into cinematography. To his utter surprise, Joey is impressed with her extensive knowledge of the trade, so much that he finds himself actually engaged in the conversation. _Well, I do love a good chinwag every now and again, especially if it keeps me awake._

He removes his sunglasses and cleans them on his shirt. While doing so, he looks up towards the horizon through the side window. Squinting and blinking, he notices the sky looks almost grainy and washed out to the point that he can’t make out the details of some of the far off buildings. 

“I forgot about the air over here. It’s so...well it’s like looking at an eight millimeter film or something, honestly.” Joey glances over at her, lips quirked up. 

She’s turned, eyes meeting him directly and mouth slightly agape. She looks...peculiar. If he had to put a finger on it, he’d say it reminds him of how Madeleine gets when Henry playfully picks her up or tickles her side or kisses her on the cheek. 

“Oh...uh...that, that's a perfect way of saying it,” Marianna declares in a wavering voice. Joey tries not to look incredulous because, really, all he’s done is made an observation about the damn smog layer. He returns his sunglasses to his face and bites his lip, thinking of casually mentioning that he’s also a musician, just to see if it ticks one of her boxes. 

Yet the decision of whether to do any sort of humble bragging is made for him when Marianna abruptly slams on the brakes. A horn blares, jarring him from his thoughts. She rolls down the passenger side window and Joey looks over at the man next to them whose window is also down. He sticks his head out and Joey watches the spittle fly from his lips as he shouts, enraged. 

“Learn to drive, you stupid bitch!” Joey is not one to become angered very easily, as he’s much more likely to express frustration through tears. Right now, however, he absolutely sees red. 

“Oi!” He yells, getting the man’s attention. “Piss off will you? You fucking cockwomble! And learn some manners while you’re at it!” The man looks at him with sheer malice and then smirks. 

“Go ahead and fuck back off to England, Harry Potter!” The man immediately cuts in front of them, revving the engine of his Tesla, or trying to at least. It doesn’t quite have the effect he’s going for as the car is electric and therefore incredibly quiet during acceleration. Still, Joey is gobsmacked, watching the vehicle as it weaves through heavy traffic, causing others to slam on their brakes in the same way as his driver. 

“Jesus Christ,” says Joey under his breath. Marianna shrugs. 

“Welcome to L.A.” 

Joey silently fumes while Marianna brushes it off as though it’s normal and that is exactly the crux of his apprehension, that self-centered mindset woven tightly into the fabric of the city. Although he tries to ignore it, it inevitably unravels before his eyes, and always when he least expects it. 

“Hey,” Marianna says in a small, tentative voice. Joey looks over at her and raises an eyebrow. “Are you, like, hungry? I’m supposed to buy you food before I drop you off.” He smiles at her sheepishness.

“Famished, actually.” Her eyes light up behind her sunglasses, he can tell, judging by her expression. 

“Ooh! Let’s go to Urth Caffé! There’s one on Melrose. I haven’t been to that one, only the one in Santa Monica, but they’re all the same. Have you been before?” Joey grimaces.

“Erm, is that where they have that ferris wheel?” 

“I was actually asking if you’ve been to Urth Caffé, but yes, there’s a ferris wheel at the pier.” She glances over to see his expression, failing to stifle a laugh. 

“Sorry, I can’t tell if that’s a frown or just a really goofy smile.” Joey covers his face with his hands, rubbing his tired eyes again and making a loud, disgruntled noise. 

“It's me trying not to think of that place. I had a rather...sordid experience over yonder.” She looks at him like he’s grown another head. 

“Dude, you need to use, like, regular English. Is that how everyone talks in England, or um, wherever you’re from?” He glares at her. 

“Oh yes, all of us speak that way. Very Shakespearian,” he explains with a posh intonation. “We all have the same accent too. If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying.” She snorts. 

“Okay then, I’ll take your word for it. So what happened at the pier? You gotta tell me now since you brought it up.” Joey groans and throws his head back dramatically, placing a palm to his forehead. 

“About two years ago I was in L.A. for a premiere and a couple of my coworkers dragged me down there to take in the view or whatever. I was a bit stressed out from the day before, which is how I ended up riding that ferris wheel piss drunk and shouting, at the top of my lungs, over and over again, that I was in love with someone. When it stopped, I got out and maybe walked two steps before vomiting all over the place. I mean, it was everywhere.” 

A beat of silence and then possibly the most irritating laugh Joey has ever heard echoes through the cab. It’s loud, outlandish, scary almost. It reminds him of a wailing banshee or a cackling rusalka or _something._

He never wants to hear it again. 

* * *

Urth Caffé, as it turns out, is a trendy vegan place a couple blocks from the Sunset Strip and near to where he’s staying. Marianna orders him a sandwich that’s loaded with sprouts and avocado. It tastes a bit like grass, but he’s so incredibly hungry that it’s just about the best tasting grass he’s ever had, so there’s that.

“So, you said you yelled that you were in love with someone when you were on the ferris wheel. Were you really in love or were you just that drunk?” Marianna asks between sips of her iced tea. He considers her question for a moment, giving himself time to chew through a mouthful of weeds. Although he would like to shrug it off and pretend it was just the alcohol, he just, well he can’t. _I do this to myself._

“Still in love with him,” he admits. She smiles deviously and leans forward, placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin in the cradle of her palm. _Oh for fucks sake. Here we go._

“Does he know?” 

“I should hope so. He’s my boyfriend after all.” 

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” she stage whispers. He tries to level her with a menacing glare, but she stays collected. “Ooh, real talk. Okay, what happened? Is he being an asshole?” 

This is where he should stop her, he knows, but she’s basically giving him permission to vent and he’s plenty exhausted the issue with Madeleine and Anya. It might make him feel better, if nothing else. He stares at her as she watches him with interest, clearly waiting for him to speak. _Fuck it._

“Not intentionally, no. It’s just,” he pauses, thinking of how to phrase it. “Well, he’s got a really demanding job for about six months out of the year, which isn’t too bad because I still get to see him on a regular basis, but recently he took an extra job that required him to travel out of the country. I’ve not seen him in over a month now.” Marianna frowns and gives his forearm a squeeze. 

“That really sucks. It must be hard, huh?” Joey shrugs while taking a swig of water. 

“I just get frustrated when I don’t get to talk to him. I know he’s extremely busy, but I barely heard from him this week.” 

“Does he know how you’re feeling?” 

“I think he does. I don’t like bringing it up while he’s gone. He’s got enough to worry about. I’d rather wait until he gets back.” Marianna nods and sighs dramatically. 

“Well, I hope he wakes up and realizes what he has. I obviously don’t know you, but so far you’ve been, like, super charming and smart and funny and…”she trails off, ducking her head and coughing into her hand. Joey smirks as her face turns scarlet. “I’m just saying, if it doesn’t work out, I doubt you’d have to work hard to find someone else.” He laughs nervously and thanks her for her kind words. 

_If it doesn’t work out...If it doesn’t work out…_

So much for making him feel better. 

_I do this to myself._

* * *

During the short ride from the cafe to his apartment, Joey finds himself nodding off in his seat, having used the last bit of his energy to scarf down that sandwich. Marianna wakes him when they arrive and he has to blink several times to actually wake up. Halfway to the front door, he realizes that he forgot to ask her to nip over to the shops to buy wine. He groans knowing it will have to wait until later as he’s about to collapse on his feet. 

The flat he’s staying in is on the bottom floor of a two story duplex. It looks rather quaint from the outside with it’s warm, Spanish style architecture accented with hand painted tiles and several kinds of palm fronds. Above all, it’s quiet, which is the only stipulation he had when the travel coordinator booked his stay. 

After struggling for an embarrassing amount of time to get the door unlocked, Joey finally steps inside. “Oh cock it,” he cries out when greeted by a stifling heat. After immediately searching the room for a thermostat and coming up empty, Joey decides to peruse the rest of the apartment. The kitchen is worse than the living room as it feels like an actual sauna, but it’s the empty floor to ceiling wine cellar that really breaks his heart. _Why the fuck would you buy a fridge just for wine, but not have air con installed? Where is the logic in that?_

Joey shakes his head and opens the refrigerator. Inside is one of those bouquets made entirely of fruit, some of which are dipped in chocolate. There’s a card attached to it with his name on it. He plucks it along with a piece of fruit and grabs one of the sparkling waters on the lower shelf while he’s at it. Inside the envelope is a handwritten note from the owner. She apologizes for the heat, explaining that the building is very old and installing central air would disrupt the original architecture, but most guests don’t seem to mind because the designer furnishings make up for it. He throws the note down and looks around one more time. “Yes, but were they the kind of people who aren’t used to this sort of hellfire? I don’t bloody think so!” He yells, cutting through the silence. 

After a few more pieces of fruit, Joey drags himself to the bedroom and throws his holdall and then himself onto the bed. He blows out a long, dejected breath. A fan with woven, wicker blades hangs from the ceiling. He sits up quickly to pull the chain and watches as it spins to life. 

It will have to do. 

Around midnight, he awakens from a dreamless sleep, groggy and sweating profusely through his clothes. He blinks up at the fan, listening to the soft click and whoosh of the blades as they spin on the highest setting. He swallows a few times, trying to get some moisture into his airways. It’s as though he’s gone days without water. 

_Three days. It’s only for three days._

After standing for a time under the cold shower spray with his head hung low, Joey wraps himself in a peach coloured bathrobe that, in all likelihood, belongs to the apartment owner, as it is several sizes too small for him and also has the name “Pamela” embroidered on the front. _Can I keep this? Well fuck it, it’s mine now._

Armed with his fruit bouquet, Joey cranks open the window in the living room and seats himself right below it on a plush chaise lounge. He pulls his mobile from the robe’s little side pocket and stares at the camera app for a good while before opening it. He angles it upwards to capture himself splayed out on the lounger. The robe barely closes around him and if he moves his leg ever so slightly the fabric sort of just...falls away. He takes a few different shots and then picks one to send to Henry, deleting the rest. He’s wise enough not to wait for a reply and instead gives Madeleine a ring. 

“Can you believe it, darling? I just finished washing Ditsy and it’s pissed it down,” she groans in sincere agitation. 

“Oh you lucky fucker. I’d kill for some rain right now. You’ve no idea. I’m in the sixth circle of hell over here.” She laughs breathily. 

“Is it really that bad, dear?” 

“It’s not _bad_ exactly. It’s just, erm...alright, yes, Madeleine it’s bad. Every time I’m here, it’s exactly the same. The driving is atrocious; no public transport, or very little to the point that it’s actually inconvenient; yelling, everywhere, all the time; food that does very little in the way of keeping me full; shall I go on?”

She’s silent for a moment. Joey knows he’s just unloaded on her, but he was not expecting her to fall into a fit of giggles that sound positively angelic with her dulcet tone and perfect cadence. _Only she could have a laugh that sounds like a sodding handbell choir._

“Joey, you sound so fucking British right now,” she crows. And it’s the way she says it, exaggerating the Manc in her accent, that makes him realize he’s probably being elitist, but the fact of the matter is, he’s been in a shit mood over the last few weeks and therefore his capacity for dealing with such annoyances is at an all time low. 

Joey huffs and bites into a chocolate covered strawberry, munching angrily as he takes stock of his surroundings. He’s wearing a silk robe while eating sweets inside a flat that looks like it was showcased in _Architectural Digest._ He sighs, feeling utterly foolish. 

“You’re right. I could think of worse situations to be in right now. I suppose I’m just…” he trails off, unsure of what to say.

“Look, I know you’re having a time of it while he’s away, but maybe being in the studio will take your mind off it, yeah?” 

“Oh it definitely will. You know how I get. I probably won’t sleep either.” Madeleine agrees, knowing all too well how seriously he takes the recording process. They chat for a little while longer before she has to leave. After, he checks his conversation with Henry, but there’s still no response. He picks at his fruit in silence, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. 

Once that’s polished off, he burrows into the fluffy accent pillows, yawning and stretching like a cat all the while. A gentle breeze picks up through the curtains and he silently thanks the gods for granting him this moment of reprieve from such oppressive heat. It tickles his exposed skin in a way that’s refreshing, so he shrugs out of the robe and lets himself drift off, stark naked, on a stranger’s sofa. 

* * *

A grating, whirring sound worms its way into Joey’s ear, rousing him from a heavy slumber. He looks around blearily as he gains possession of his faculties, eyes coming into focus on the open window. The curtains are parted as though they were blown apart from the wind in the middle of the night, the sun streaming through harshly, focusing like a spotlight on his cock and balls. 

The problem is that he can clearly see, from his vantage point, a gardener clipping the hedge that creeps up along the glass with an electric trimmer. 

_Fuck._

Joey feels around for his mobile and then rolls unceremoniously onto the floor, skirting along the wall in an effort to keep away from the gardener’s line of sight until he’s safely ensconced in the bedroom. Dropping down to the bed, Joey checks the time to find that it’s nearly eight in the morning, locally. But, that’s not at all what has his stomach suddenly dipping with arousal and his sun-kissed cock stiffening by degrees. No, that would be the, frankly, obscene photo that Henry has sent of himself. He’s lying in bed, an arm tucked behind his head with his torso on full display, stopping just before where his trail of hair fans out. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, smile lazy, and Joey knows exactly what Henry had been up to. 

He groans and without hesitation, he reaches down to palm himself, using his other hand to call Henry despite the slim chance that he will pick up. 

“Joey?” He answers in that warm, posh voice of his. A mix of surprise and titillation surges through him, causing a shiver to run along his arms. He swallows thickly. 

“Darling,” he breathes. Henry breathes out too and it’s as though Joey can sense the weight behind it, the level at which he’s affected. 

“You looked…” he trails off, breathing loud again. Joey giggles. 

“I know _exactly_ how you feel.” 

“Do you? Tell me.” 

“You tell _me,”_ Joey demands. Henry groans, but quickly acquiesces. 

“That was a gift to wake up to, my love. Fuck, you looked...I wanted to…” Joey inhales sharply, his cock jumping, straining upward. 

“Yes darling, tell me. How did I look? What did you want to do?” Henry sighs raggedly. 

“Fucking obscene. I want to get my mouth all over you, move that scrap of silk just a hair's breadth away so I can see your gorgeous cock.” Joey moans openly, jerking himself in tight, measured strokes.

“Are you getting off?” Henry whispers gruffly. Joey makes a loud noise that sort of sounds like “yes” in his throat. “Mm, that’s good, love. Yes, fuck your hand for me. Get it all wet and slippery.” Joey runs his palm through the precum spilling from the tip, watching as more dribbles out. “Always dripping everywhere. Want to lick it up, taste it. Fuck, I love it.” Joey’s breath hitches at that admission. He jerks himself faster without any sort of finesse. Rather than draw it out, he’d like to come hard and fast with Henry’s voice in his ear. 

“You love it,” Joey rasps, “but it’s a pain in the arse...soaks right through my fucking trousers if ‘m not careful.” Henry _growls_ at him and his hips come off the bed, his impending orgasm sending sparks along the base of his spine. 

“Such a gorgeous mess. Love that it gets all over me when I’m fucking you.” Joey all but keens into the phone, planting his feet firmly on the bed sheets to anchor his rapid movements. 

“What about when I fuck you, hm? You like when I get it all over my fingers and tease that perfect hole of yours, yeah?” He feels it gain momentum, about to barrel through him. He’s certain whatever Henry says next will push him over the edge. 

It doesn't. 

No, quite the opposite, in fact. Another call comes through, effectively interfering with Henry’s voice along with his own arousal as Sonya’s picture flashes across the screen. A helpless whimper escapes his throat. Henry is saying something, his voice bordering on panicked. An onslaught of texts appear, all from Sonya. 

He has to go. Now. He has to—he can’t—it’s gone. It’s over. _Ruined._

A harsh sigh, and then a very long and very loud “fuck” is ripped from his mouth. 

And he would very much like to cry. 


	2. Talkin' Shit About a Pretty Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at the point where I can't seem to do anything else with this section, so here, please take it. I'm so done with it.
> 
> *Minor edits made 9/30/20 to fix grammar, punctuation, etc.

**TWO: Talkin’ Shit About a Pretty Sunset**

_Talking shit about a pretty sunset_

_Blanketing opinions that I’ll probably regret soon_

_— Modest Mouse_

He drags his boot back and forth through carpet that reminds him of the video store he used to frequent as a child. It smells like it too, which makes him feel strange, as though he’s reverted back to his ten year old self. A headache had formed between his eyes, the culmination of being tucked inside a small recording studio off Sunset and Vine for the past few days. He had held on for as long as possible, intent on finishing sometime before nightfall, but Gionna and Sonya had forced him to take a break by shoving some tablets of acetaminophen into his hand and then relegating him to a makeshift break room-cum-storage closet. 

Therefore, it is the last thing he needs, to be reminded of his childhood while faced with the side effects of bone deep exhaustion. There’s a small mirror hung on the door above a row of coat hooks. Joey uses it to assess his current state. Large shadows loom beneath his lower lash line and his facial hair’s grown out into a thick scruff because who the fuck is he trying to impress? He contemplates while combing shaky fingers through his tangled locks. 

In the midst of his attempt at preening, the breast pocket of his jean jacket hums against his chest, startling him. He digs for it in a huff and has to blink twice at Henry's face on the screen. He glimpses his own tired face once more and frowns. Even thinking about his boyfriend is a surefire way to deplete his energy at the moment. He pictures himself as a fuse box and Henry just coming in and ripping out his wiring until the whole of him loses power. _Yes, but what about when you haven’t got any reserves? Then what happens?_

The tone with which he answers is sunk low in his chest. He should be resting his voice, but that line of thought doesn’t register with matters of the heart. _Or cock._

“You’re having a shit time of it, aren’t you?” Henry mumbles. Joey blows out a long breath, collapsing into the chair. There’s a lot he could say, a lot that he _wants_ to say.

“Yeah,” he agrees instead. Henry sighs inwardly. 

“I know.” 

“No you don’t,” Joey curtly proclaims. He isn’t certain where this burst of ire has come from so suddenly, but he’s got a few ideas. Henry chuffs in surprise. 

“What do you mean ‘I don’t’?” Joey rubs his temples, body shivering due to a swift uptick in blood pressure.

“You don’t know what I’m dealing with. You...it’s like you’re fucking oblivious. This whole month. You haven’t even _tried,_ Henry! I’m...I understand that you’re busy and I don’t fault you for that. I’m not trying to hem you in or anything, but don’t act like you’re aware of me when you’re silent for weeks on end.” Henry says nothing for a beat, breathing into the speaker with careful, measured breaths. 

“I’m not going to try and make excuses or explain anything away because that’s the last thing you want to hear right now. But I will say this: I may not know _exactly_ what has happened, but I do know that you’re doing everything you can to lower your anxiety about it and for that you’re exhausted. It doesn’t help that you haven’t got a wink of sleep because you’re up all night agonizing over your performance, working things out in your head. You want nothing more than to drown in a bottle of Hendrick’s, have come close to it even, but you won’t, not yet at least, because you’re working and you’re responsible. The worst part, though, is that I’m the reason for most of it and there’s nothing I can do but profusely apologize and try to grovel.” 

Joey leans forward, arms braced on his thighs and head hanging down. Tears threaten in their usual prickling fashion and he has to grit his teeth to tamp them down. He can’t fall apart, at least not for a few more hours. 

“I’m such a fool,” He mutters lifelessly. 

“No, love, you’re brilliant.” Henry’s whispery vehemence finds the gap in his self-reproach, but it’s not enough to fully assuage him. 

“Not really, but thank you darling. I…” he swallows hard to keep his voice from wavering. “ _Gods,_ I want you to be here.” 

It wavers regardless. 

Henry is quiet again, for so long that it evolves into something tense and bordering on doubt until finally he professes with a rasping exhalation, “I want to be there too. I can’t wait to just...touch you, feel you against me.” Joey rubs his sleeve over his eyes, breathing slowly through his mouth, bridling his emotions. The carpet smell is more pungent in his hunched over state, sending him to the brink of overload with every breath. He has no choice but to get out if he wants to avoid a panic attack. 

“Darling, I love you, but I have to go. Now. I’m sorry.” He hangs up without waiting for a response and stumbles out into the hallway, breathing in a large gulp of clean air. He squeezes his hands into fists, straightens his back, and walks with his head held high, determined to finish with his best foot forward. 

It works, for a while. That is, until they ask him to try the verse in a higher key and maybe with more intensity here or there to emphasize the sentiment of the song. He finds it ironic, that they’re essentially asking him to tap into the feelings he’s worked aggressively to keep at bay for the better part of an hour. With a jutting jaw, Joey concedes that this is not something he can just let dangle and then quickly retract on a whim, at least not in his current state; there will be consequences. 

He performs the song as requested, expanding his ribs, making space for the ache in the pit of his chest to harmonize with the breath deep in his lungs. It builds and transforms as it’s unleashed, crescendoing in a passionate break. It’s unorthodox, yes, but he's going for theatricality here. 

Joey takes the ardent thumbs up from the control room as a cue to slump into a nearby chair where he lets the excess of his creation surge up into his throat and thereafter into his eyes. He blinks and then expels all the exhaustion, frustration and longing from the past month in an outpouring of fractious sobs.

It goes on forever, it feels like. Until someone is shoving a box of tissues into his hand and then he’s being ushered off to a sofa in one of the adjacent rooms. He blows his nose and his shoulders heave with every tremulous breath. Sonya is next to him with her tiny hand clasped to his bicep. 

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, pawing at his eyes. “I get up in my head and it’s—it’s…”

“Don’t worry, solnyshko. The song is emotional, I know,” she assures him with a soothing pat to his back. He nods and flicks away more tears, trying to breathe through his nose. Sonya hums softly. He rests his head in his hands and watches her dainty little foot swing back and forth in its satin ballet flat. “You’re tired, hm?” She asks sweetly. He shakes his head and his fringe falls into his face. 

“‘M fine.” She huffs out a laugh and draws closer, placing her hand on his back again. 

“I think you’ll be happy to know that you gave us everything we need at this point. The rest is just extra.” Her words have a tempering effect on Joey; all at once his muscles unwind, giving way to an underlying lassitude. 

“Oh, thank the fucking gods.” 

* * *

The plan is this: First, he will find a corner shop where he can prove Henry correct by purchasing a bottle of Hendrick's and some tonic water. Then, upon arriving at his flat, he will strip off his clothes and lie naked in bed while enjoying a refreshing mix of juniper and cucumber to dull the senses. The room will be sweltering, but cotton sheets are sure to absorb his inevitable perspiration. 

If he’s not too bogged down in self-pity, he might ring Madeleine and see if she’s amenable to a drunken phone date. Though, in all likelihood, he will lay there, lost in old regrets and intrusive memories until his exhaustion catches up with him and he finally succumbs to sleep. Yes, a fitting end to a productive work trip. It’s almost comforting, knowing what’s to come. 

It is _not_ comforting when those plans are vexed, however. 

A familiar Porsche SUV comes around to collect him and just as he’s about to mumble a greeting to his most favourite valley girl, Henry rings him. _Really? Twice in one day? Is there a blood moon tonight? I must be lucky._

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Marianna asks. Joey slumps in his seat. 

“It’s my boyfriend.” She clicks her tongue. 

“Still mad at him?” 

“Mm.”

“Just pick up and if he acts like a dick, I’ll talk to him.” Joey snorts. _Yes, that’ll solve things._

“You’ve been to L.A. a handful of times now," Henry implores as soon as Joey answers. "So, I was wondering, have you ever just stopped to watch the sun set over there?” _Well if that isn’t random._

“Erm, no, I can’t say that I have.” Joey furrows his brow, glancing over at a focused Marianna. 

“You should. There’s a lot of places up in the hills where you can watch. Great viewpoints.” Joey leans his head against the side window and rubs his eyes. 

“That’s...Henry, that sounds lovely and thank you for the suggestion, but I am completely worn out. In fact, I’m en route to my apartment right now to have a lie down. Bollocks, that reminds me,” he turns to Marianna, “Eh, lets nip over to a shop where there’s gin, yeah?” She purses her lips, but Joey assumes she’s agreed to it based on the fact that she continues north instead of making the usual left turn on Sunset Boulevard. 

“Listen, I know you’re tired, but this is extremely important. It’ll be a great end to your visit and you might change your tune about the city after you see it.” Joey would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting irritated. _Does he really think I’d go for that right now? Fuck no. Who even cares about the city? I’m proper knackered, goddamnit._

“Next time, darling. I promise.”

“Joey, listen, you have to go _now._ You just...you have to. I swear you’ll be glad you did.” Joey makes an exasperated noise. 

“Goddamnit, Henry! You’re acting like it’s Hailey’s fucking Comet. Sorry, but I can see that anywhere and on any day. I’m not going, alright? Please drop it.” Marianna abruptly turns her head and Joey looks at her with a frown. She’s biting her fingernail, fidgeting. “Sorry,” he mouths, listening to Henry’s drawn out breath. 

“Fine. I love you,” he declares before abruptly ending the call. Joey stares at the screen for a moment, more than a tad bewildered at that little exchange. _He’s so bizarre sometimes...but I suppose that’s why I love him._

“I apologize for that. He’s a stubborn brute of a man when he wants to be.” Marianna says nothing, staring forward with both hands gripped on the steering wheel and mouth in a permanent thin line. “Erm, is everything all right?” He glances up at the road and does a double take. No longer are they in a commercial district, but rather on some sort of tree-lined highway with houses tucked here and there. 

In the distance, he can see the road as it winds uphill among dense foliage. “I...don’t think there are any shops this way. Erm, what—why are we…” A wave of trepidation grips him and he has to rest a hand on the dashboard to steady himself. “Marianna, where are we going?” She pulls her sunglasses off and for the first time he sees her eyes, which, despite their luminescence, look painfully bloodshot. 

“I’m taking you to Griffith Observatory,” she timidly explains. Joey takes a moment to quell his exasperation. It will do him no good to act like a shouty, petulant child, so he starts out simple. 

“Why?” 

Nothing.

“Marianna, I’m not mad at you. I promise. Can you please just tell me who put you up to this? Was it your boss?” She shakes her head. 

“No. Uh, well she called me and told me an employee wanted to speak with me, which I thought was a little weird but whatever. Anyway, he explained some stuff and well, long story short, I promised I’d take you up to Griffith.” Joey stares at her, gobsmacked. _The fucking audacity of him. Jesus._

“And you just...listened to a random person you don’t even know? Really?” 

“No! I’m not an idiot. Look, all I can tell you is that there’s a staircase that wraps around the back and you’re supposed to walk up there.” Joey slaps a hand against his forehead, letting it slide down his face to cradle his chin. He cocks his head and gazes sideways at her, assessing. 

“I’m curious how he got you to agree to this. Did he tell you who he is or something?” Marianna looks confused and that in itself is his answer. 

“What do you mean who he is? I know he’s your boyfriend. Which, by the way, you didn’t tell me he works with you. Is he working on _The Witcher?”_ Joey laughs. _She’s got to be having me on._

“Yes, he plays the lead role actually.” He holds his breath, counting the seconds it takes her to figure things out before releasing it in a rush. 

“Wait, are you fucking with me?” She squawks. Joey shakes his head, laughing. “Your boyfriend is Superman,” and she says it as a statement of fact rather than a question, trying to wrap her head around it. _That felt...good. Telling someone._

Marianna continues to babble on about Clark Kent and muscles and how she’s definitely going to watch _The Witcher_ now, all while gesticulating in her over the top way. Joey waits for her to finish or at least stop for breath or something and while doing so, he pats down the jacket on his lap, searching. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s all that and then some. Here,” he says, shoving a small bottle into her hand. 

“Eye drops?” 

“Yeah, since you seem to not have any on your person.” 

“Why—what are you talking about?” She screeches in a very unconvincing manner. Joey scoffs.

“I’m not stupid, darling. You made the mistake of taking off your sunglasses, but I already knew you’ve been driving around town high as a kite all day. I mean, I’m sure it’s a boring job, running errands, carting around a bunch of entitled fuckwits. But no drops even? An amateur move, don’t you think?” She shrivels into her seat, letting out a long breath. 

“Are you gonna tell my boss?” She asks, defeated. Joey shrugs. 

“Are you going to sell my information?” Marianna slaps her palm over her chest, taken aback. 

“The fuck? No way! That’s fucked up dude.”

“Yeah well, the same goes for you. _I_ don’t care if you smoke, but someone else will, so don’t leave shit like this,” he points at a hemp wick coiled around a lighter on the dash, “lying around.” Marianna opens the center console between their seats and proceeds to sweep everything off the dash and into the compartment. 

“Can’t believe you think I’d do that. I mean, I know you think I’m annoying. Your poker face sucks by the way. But—“

“Marianna, I don’t think that.” She raises her eyebrow skeptically. He deflates. “Okay, I’ll admit, at first, yes, I was in a bad mood and you were not helping and now you’re in league with Henry about this ridiculous sunset thing, but besides that, well, you’re...genuine. You’re not afraid to be yourself.” 

“You mean I’m loud and silly and, like, uh, what’s the word... uncivilized. Right?” 

“This might come as a shock, but I _like_ loud and silly...and as for uncivilized, you’re American so it can’t be helped.” She gasps dramatically and he sticks his tongue out at her. 

“You’re just a—a—a stuffy English dude who acts like he’s the fucking Wicked Witch of the West when it’s not even ninety degrees outside! Ah I’m melting, I’m melting!” Joey erupts in laughter and then Marianna is laughing too and by the end of it he’s not even sure what started it in the first place. 

The trees along the road eventually give way to a near empty car park and beyond that a courtyard leading to a structure boasting classical architecture with a large grey dome at the top and smaller cupolas flanking either side. 

“Erm, is it, ah, is it even open? Maybe we should turn around?” Joey suggests carefully. Marianna snorts. _Well, I had to at least give it a go._ She pulls up to a roundabout with a walkway that leads to the central courtyard. Joey notices some kind of obelisk or statue pointing up from the middle and then Marianna’s ushering him out of his seat. He ties his jacket around his waist and crosses his arms, frowning. She bites her lip. 

“So, um, it’s been real. Thanks for, like, being really cool to drive around. Most people are super rude and talk down to me and stuff and I mean, you were kind of an ass sometimes, but in a good way, you know?” Joey glowers at her. She smiles sheepishly, rubbing at the back of her neck. 

“Uh, um, and I know you don’t want to be here and you’re, like, super confused about all this, but ah, look on the bright side, at least it’s not the Santa Monica ferris wheel, am I right?” He crosses his arms. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” 

“Um...no, I can’t. It’s too much fun. Anyway, uh, see ya around!” She waves her hand and then the window rolls up. 

“Wait!” Joey cries. “Why—you’re leaving? You can’t just _leave_ me here!” He reaches out for the door handle and finds it’s been locked. 

“Enjoy!” she yells before peeling away, effectively stranding him there. He watches her zip around in a circle and then back to the main road until she’s out of sight. It’s dead silent, save for a few birds and cicadas chirping intermittently. There’s a few ground keepers puttering about, but they pay him no mind. 

“Cock,” he says under his breath while checking the time. The sun _is,_ in fact, about to set, but Joey fumes silently. He knows it’s petty and he should just go and check out whatever it is that Henry wants him to see so badly, but another part of him wants to stay indignant. _He’s not getting his way this time. Fuck that._

There’s no seating anywhere, so Joey settles in on the grass and tries to look up a rideshare that can take him home, but in the midst of all that, Madeleine calls him and he proceeds to complain to her in hopes that she will sympathize. She doesn’t, however, and isn’t that just the icing on the cake? _I don’t even like cake._

“I don’t know, dear, I think if it’s that important to him, maybe you should just do it? Why would he go to all that trouble otherwise?” Joey, who had been scratching absentmindedly at his scalp, freezes.

“You think there’s wine up there?” Madeleine laughs softly, sonorously. 

“You’ll never know unless you have a look!” Joey rolls his eyes, but nonetheless agrees and she wishes him the best of luck. 

Walking around the side of the building, Joey locates the entrance to a spiral staircase that wraps around the circumference. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, chastising himself. The stairs give way to a landing containing a wide, concrete balustrade which connects between columns that arch overhead in a canopy. He stalls for a moment and looks around before walking along the curve to reach the end of the portico. 

The entire city can be gleaned at this point, but it’s nothing more than a blur behind the figure that stands in stark relief before him. His lungs feel utterly arrested as though he’s underwater; his heart pounds, adrenaline surging from the centre of his chest towards his extremities. 

“Please tell me you’re real because if I’m hallucinating then you’ll have to excuse me while I go weep for my sanity.”

“I told you it would make sense,” Henry croons, emotion caught in his throat. Joey’s breath hitches. 

“Let me just, let me look at you,” he whispers. He’s never seen anything so wildly breathtaking. The warm orange glow of the sun reflects off Henry’s shaggy curls, turning them a shiny chestnut color. His blue eyes twinkle with just a hint of mirth and the cut of his shoulders and arms stand out as he leans against the balustrade. He looks _good._

Joey swallows thickly, letting out a shaky breath, and then he springs up into Henry’s grasp, legs locking tight around his torso, arms around his shoulders. Henry balances himself and then squeezes the life out of Joey, their foreheads touching.

“You’re here,” Joey whispers. Henry breathes a muffled “yes” into his mouth and Joey swallows it greedily. Their kiss is harsh and bruising and _loud._ Henry’s guttural moans weave into Joey’s needy whimpering. Desperation rolls off of them in shuddering waves. Henry has that funky airplane cabin smell stuck to his shirt, his hair, his skin, but every so often the heady, natural scent of him seeps forth and Joey thinks he might fall over dizzy if he wasn’t being held. With a final circling of his tongue against Joey’s, Henry retreats, in search of breath. 

“You absolute bastard,” Joey pants, “Oh my—Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe you. I honestly can’t.” He buries his face in Henry’s neck, catching his breath. Feeling Henry’s suppressed laugh, he lifts his head to scowl, letting Henry cup his cheeks as he lowers himself to the floor. 

“If I had known it would be such a fucking challenge to surprise you, I may have reconsidered.” Joey groans in embarrassment, hiding his face again. Henry runs his hands along Joey’s waist, bunching the fabric of his shirt and releasing it in a reflexive way, running his knuckles along the toned muscles of his abdomen. He nuzzles against Joey’s ear. “But, I promised myself it would be different with you,” he whispers gruffly, lips brushing Joey’s lobe. “Even though it probably hasn’t felt like it as of late, I really am giving you everything I’ve got, love.” 

“How do you put up with such a needy bastard?” Joey croaks out, around the lump in his throat. Henry grins, lifting Joey’s chin and running his fingers through the soft beard. 

“Believe me, I’m just as needy as he is. I just happen to be less dramatic about it.” He laughs softly while Joey tuts and pinches his side. The fading sun paints the sky in a warm pink and purple, reflecting onto Henry’s skin and giving his visage a bronzed appearance. Joey traces his fingers along Henry’s brows, down to the barely visible crows feet and lower, brushing the shadows under his eyes. _He’s so fucking exhausted right now. Probably worse than me._

“Sometimes your life is so fucking hectic it makes me sick, but when it’s just us and I get to experience you at your core, well, all of that is worth it,” Joey whispers. Henry’s expression morphs into something so tender, it reminds Joey of how he looks when Henry wakes him up to ride his cock, slow and delicate, amid the early morning light. His body throbs heavily from the mere thought and Henry must notice because his eyes narrow as they’re wont to do when Joey’s being obvious in his desire. 

“Alright, enough romanticism,” Henry gruffs,” We’ll go get your things from wherever it is you’re staying and then I’m taking you to a place that’s a bit more private so we can shag like animals for the next three days.” Despite the curl of anticipation in his stomach, Joey smirks and walks a few feet away, looking out into the distance. 

“I dunno. I mean, there’s still a little light left and you wanted me to experience a proper sunset, yeah? Shouldn’t we see it through?” Henry pushes him against the balustrade with his body, wrapping his arms around Joey’s torso. He bites the nape of Joey’s neck and then one hand reaches forward to palm his crotch. _Fucking cock._

“Stop being cheeky,” Henry threatens in his ear. “I’m determined, Joey, absolutely determined to finally make you come without being touched sometime in the next few days and I’d like to get to work as soon as possible.” Joey shakes and shudders in his boyfriend’s arms, keening sharply when Henry reaches down below the waistband of his boxers to grip his swelling cock in a firm squeeze.

“Nnngh. We’ve tried. I—I don’t think I can, darling.” Henry arcs his palm so it brushes over the head on the upstroke. “F—fuck, Henry! I’ve been in actual _physical_ pain since we got interrupted. I’m going to come in my trousers if you keep on.” 

“You haven’t—oh yes, this is exactly what you need.” Henry’s hand is soaked in precum now and he gathers it up to spread it as he strokes. Heat rushes to Joey’s cheeks at the wet squelching noises that echo around them. He squeezes his hands into fists when he feels his orgasm looming and right as he tenses his legs Henry stops his hand. 

“Henry please!” He sobs, but Henry’s stuffing his cock back in his underpants and zipping him up carefully around the bulge. 

“I know it hurts. I know, love, but you have to trust me. This is going to help later.” Joey groans and bangs his fist on the concrete in frustration. 

“I loathe how you’re always cocking right and you always know _just_ what’s best for me. It’s rather annoying, if you weren’t aware.” Henry slaps him playfully on the arse and then pulls him towards the steps. 

“You love it,” he teases. 

It’s completely true. 

* * *

He watches as Henry taps his fingers impatiently along the gear stick of his rental BMW. After a tedious and lengthy detour to gather Joey’s belongings, they’re driving north again towards the Hollywood Hills. The traffic is horrendous, of course, so Joey lets his eyes drift closed, dozing off while Henry navigates through rush hour. After the adrenaline had worn off, his exhaustion had reemerged in full force. He smiles, listening as Henry curses under his breath more often than not. 

“Right, pick a bloody lane, won’t you? The bike path is not one of them,” He gripes. Joey full on grins, crossing his arms over his head. He turns, staring at the side of Henry’s face, admiring his laser focus as he continues to tap those long fingers while waiting for the light to turn green.

“You sound a little like Madeleine right now,” Joey murmurs sleepily. Henry chuckles.

“She drove me and Kal to Hampstead Heath before I left him with her. There was a slight traffic jam, if you could even call it that. I can’t imagine how she would fare over here. She’s an absolute spitfire when she’s pissed off.” Joey readily agrees. _Speaking of which..._

He takes his mobile out to look at the photo Madeleine had sent not too long ago. She’s lying spread eagle in their hallway with Kal on top of her. His tail is a wagging blur and his tongue is licking a stripe up her cheek. She looks the picture of health with her hands behind Kal’s ears, most likely scratching, cheeks rosy, red lips open in a wide smile as she laughs, eyes crinkling tight. The image tugs at Joey’s heartstrings, his chest heavy with the weight of his fondness. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t bring Kal” he admits through a lengthy yawn. 

“With that fur coat of his? I don’t think he’d appreciate this heat. And the place we’re staying at isn’t exactly dog friendly. The last thing I want is him whining at the door while I’m balls deep in that tight arse of yours.” 

“Fuck,” Joey gasps. “You can’t just _say_ that like it’s nothing, darling.” Henry raises an eyebrow, chuckling devilishly as he presses down on the gas pedal with a heavy foot. 

“On that note, have you been...practicing?” Henry asks in a low voice. A small flare of heat licks at Joey’s insides despite his fatigue, of course his rampant libido would fight tooth and nail where sleep is concerned. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, almost bashful. Henry sucks in a breath. He grabs Joey’s hand, threading their fingers together. 

“I’m going to make you _scream,_ my love. I’m going to take you apart over and over again until you’re a proper mess. Just think of the way you’ll sound. You’re so fucking vocal. I don’t think there’s a sound more gorgeous.” Henry rubs his thumb along the pulse point in Joey’s wrist, back and forth in a tender sweep. He glances over to watch as Joey’s eyelashes flutter demurely along cheeks flushed crimson while he bites his bottom lip and rubs a hand along his jawline. Henry makes a throaty noise, prompting Joey to flick his eyes upwards and arch an eyebrow in question. 

“Stop that,” Henry commands in a tone that brokers no argument. Joey yawns again, this time through a smirk, lifting his arms above his head to stretch. His shirt rides up over his belt, exposing his firm abdominals that hide under a generous dusting of hair. 

“I'm not doing anything. Trying to stay awake is all.” 

The conversation fizzles out into a contented silence. Eventually they turn onto a long stretch of highway atop the hills. _Wasn’t there a noir film about this?_ Dusk ushers in a slightly more balmy and temperate atmosphere, prompting Henry to lower the windows of the BMW. Joey breathes in deep, letting the sharp aridity fill his senses. The scent makes him think of wild flowers bogged down by dust and unruly weeds. 

A warm rush of wind again his face lures him into that liminal state before slumber. His senses turn fuzzy and that last moment of consciousness before fading out is a gentle tickle of lips against his inner wrist and a whispered “love you” sweeping past his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I look at IRL Joey and I think, "I'll bet your drink of choice is a Hendricks gin and tonic." He just has that energy.


	3. The City Has Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, lads, I think it's time for some porn and feelings.
> 
> *Minor edits made: 10/5/20 for grammar, punctuation, etc.

**THREE: The City Has Sex**

_The city has sex with itself, I suppose_

_As the concrete collides, the scenery grows_

_And the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposed_

_Having undressed their wounds for each other_

_— Bright Eyes_

He wakes alone in the dark, moonlight shining along rippling water that’s reflected through a set of glass doors. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Joey rolls out of bed and notices that the wall across from him is made entirely of wooden paneling. _Huh. Very retro._ Upon closer inspection, the panels at each end appear to swing outward, acting as doorways that blend in with the inner paneling, which he steps through to find one long, rectangular room. 

There’s a fireplace next to him, on the other side of the partition he just came from; in front of that, a small living area with two stretched sofas that lie opposite each other, a small dining table and chairs further on, and at the very end is the kitchen area. It would be somewhat normal if it wasn’t for the fact that the walls are actually a series of glass doors and the furnishings look like something from a mid-century Eames advertisement. _Are we in some sort of architectural installation?_

Joey spots Henry in the distance, hunched over the kitchen counter and scrolling through his mobile. As he meanders his way through the house, Joey continues to survey the various accents using the glow from the kitchen backsplash to guide him. There’s a half eaten cheese toastie on a plate and without a word, Joey reaches for it. 

“What’s got you excited?” He asks through a large bite, noting Henry’s amused expression as he continues to stare at his screen. 

“Just browsing Reddit,” he says while glancing up.

“Is that the one where you’re like their leader or something?”

“Erm, I wouldn’t say I’m their ‘leader,’ they just happen to go bonkers when I post anything PC related on social media.” Joey smirks. 

“Yeah, yeah, they worship you, don’t lie,” he mutters through another mouthful of fried bread and cheese. Henry shakes his head. 

“Henry, where…” Joey swallows. “Where the bleeding hell are we?” 

“You don’t like it?” Henry asks, moving to trap Joey between his body and the counter. Joey scarfs down the rest of Henry’s abandoned food and rubs his hands together to dislodge the crumbs on his fingertips. 

“It’s lovely...handsome really, but you didn’t have to do this. It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” He reaches for the glass of water next to the plate and finishes it in one go while Henry noses at his hair.

“It’s definitely posh L.A., but it’s quiet and secluded. We can be loud without being bothered.” Joey turns his head to run his lips along Henry’s cheek. 

“Why would we be loud? Are we hosting a party?” He asks all too innocently before wiggling his backside against Henry’s crotch. Henry smirks, wrapping his arms around Joey’s middle, one hand drifting below his shirt and then all the way up to tease over his nipples. 

“You know _exactly_ why, my love,” he gruffs while dragging his lips along Joey’s neck only to sink his teeth in at the juncture before his collarbone. Joey tries, yet fails to keep his composure, letting the ragged hitch in his breath give everything away. Henry unleashes a wicked laugh and then promptly resumes his ministrations. 

“If you’re starting something _—Jesus, darling,”_ Joey whimpers as Henry cups his clothed cock. He turns again and catches Henry’s mouth in a frenzied kiss. It’s all lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth to thrill the senses. 

“Finish your sentence,” Henry demands as they catch their breath. Joey makes a frustrated noise and goes back in for another kiss, but Henry pulls away. Joey huffs and unzips his trousers, wrenching his cock free of its confines. 

“I _need_ to get off,” he whines gutturally, gripping the base. He’s already rock hard and leaking at the tip, so he gives himself a couple light strokes to take the edge off. Henry tuts in his ear and smacks his hand away, replacing it with his own. Together, they watch and moan in unison as Joey’s shaft pulses and another dribble of precum seeps from the head. 

“Remember when I left you in a state right before the bed sharing scene?” Henry grunts in Joey’s ear, gathering up the messy wetness with his fingertips and lightly pumping his cock to spread it around. Joey hangs his head and whimpers. 

“God, my balls were so fucking _sore_ during all that,” he mumbles, accent thick from the effort of speaking through his pleasure. Henry makes a noise low in his throat. 

“Well...it was your idea to imply that we were both sexually frustrated. I was only helping.” He growls and tightens his grip, jerking him just the way he likes it, making sure to curve a little on the upstroke so his palm grazes over the frenulum. Joey throws his head back in a high pitched moan, gripping the countertop. 

“Please, darling, n—not again. I can’t...can’t.” Henry nips and sucks at Joey’s neck, unable to resist the sinewy column, flushed and flexing in exertion.

“Yes you can, love. Just once more and then tomorrow…” Henry groans and speeds up his movements, twisting more at the base as it becomes even slicker. Joey absolutely sobs. 

“I hate you, hate you, ha—oh fuck, shit, that’s it right there. Mmm. Please, Henry, _please_ don’t stop.” Joey begins to thrust into Henry’s hand as he pitches forward. 

“Yes, there it is,” Henry mutters into Joey’s neck. “Are you going to make a mess of my hand now?” Joey makes a choked off noise in response, his legs locking up, knuckles turning white. He’s flushed all the way from his face down to his chest, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in surrender. He lets out a long, nearly plaintive moan, voice breaking, preparing for that satisfying rush of hot, sticky seed spilling along Henry’s fingers. 

But it doesn’t come. _He_ doesn’t come. 

Henry lets go right at the precipice, fusing his hands to Joey’s hips, keeping him upright as he slumps in Henry’s arms, keening and sobbing and wailing. 

“Shhh,” Henry whispers into his ear in an effort to calm him down. They sway gently. Henry continues to murmur soothingly, placing feathery kisses along his temple, his hairline. He wipes the sweat from Joey’s brow, swipes at the tears along his cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Eventually the noise dies down until it’s intermittent whimpers and then heavy, hitching sighs. 

Joey turns to wrap his arms around Henry, resting against him. “I better fucking ascend to a higher plane tomorrow,” he declares, voice thoroughly ravaged. 

* * *

It’s light outside when he wakes again, the sun high above the horizon, scorching the deck. The house is cool from the air conditioning so he tucks the covers under his chin with one hand before grabbing his mobile off the nightstand with the other. 

He opens Madeleine’s conversation. There are several selfies of her and Kal and it seems they’ve been playing dress up with various hats and scarves and other such accoutrements. As he’s looking at them, she sends another photo. Kal is wearing one of Joey’s ties and a bowler hat. Madeleine is wearing a blush pink dress and is draped in costume pearls. Her crimson red lipstick stands out on puckered lips while Kal’s tongue lolls from his mouth. Between them is his vinyl copy of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.” He rolls his eyes, suppressing a grin while typing a cheeky response. 

“Clever. And I suppose you’ve taken my bed. There’s no way he fits in yours and I know he’s not sleeping on the floor.” Joey senses movement behind him and then he’s being pulled back into Henry’s warm body. He kisses Joey’s shoulder and rubs his hard cock against the cleft of his arse. Joey drops his mobile just as Madeleine replies with a winky face. He turns around, smiling at Henry’s soft expression. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Henry asks, voice hoarse from sleep. Joey kisses his nose and then his lips.

“Definitely...mostly...erm, but, once again, my balls hurt if anything so much as grazes them...so there’s that.” Henry reaches out to run his thumb along Joey’s cheek, at the edge of where skin meets beard. He flashes his teeth in a lazy smile.

“Want me to fix it?” He coos. Joey bites his lip. 

“After a shower, yes. I smell like I’ve spent the night in a rubbish heap,” he declares with a grimace. Henry shakes with silent laughter, prompting Joey to tut and dramatically sniff the air around him. “And you’re even worse, darling. How do you not wash immediately after a fucking transcontinental flight? I mean, honestly.” Henry wraps his arms around Joey, rolling on top of him and maneuvering so that Joey gets a face full of armpit. Joey yelps and struggles, trying to get away and laughing all the while. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not bathing. I just happened to spend eleven hours on a plane after being awake for the previous twenty-four as I scrambled to finish up on set, only to have to perform a blood sacrifice in order to surprise you in a way that I thought would be romantic—“

“Okay, okay, I—“ Joey tries to interject.

“—And _then_ on top of all that, you pass out in the car and I have to carry you, dead weight, _upstairs—“_ Joey threads his fingers through Henry’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss. He starts to pull back, intent on finishing his tirade, but Joey only tightens his hold. After breaking for air, they share a whisper of a laugh, foreheads touching. 

“I love you,” Joey croaks. “So, _so_ fucking much.” He aches all over, in his throat, the pit of his chest, his stomach. It’s a good kind of ache, however. Henry bumps his nose with Joey’s, nuzzling gently. 

“And I love you,” he whispers. Their exchange bleeds into softly kissing, feeling each other, waking up. 

“What is it?” Joey asks with a raised eyebrow, noticing Henry’s searching gaze. He moves his thumb to Joey’s bottom lip, skimming lightly, swallowing hard. 

“After we’re done filming, I want to take you to meet my parents. How does that sound?” Joey blinks a few times in an effort to downplay his initial shock. 

“Are you sure?” He whispers, making his throat work. Henry frowns. 

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Joey averts his eyes, but Henry isn’t having it. “No, look at me,” he says firmly, tipping Joey’s chin upwards with his fingers. “Do you not want to meet them?” 

“Of course I do. Your mum especially.” Henry huffs.

“What's wrong then?” Joey’s eyes flutter, his breath shallow. _Here it is._

“I know you’ve told them about us and you say they’re happy for you but...are they really thrilled about _me?_ I mean, deep down, I’m sure this is the last thing they expected for you.” Henry’s brow knits in confusion. 

“Actually no, the last thing they expected was for me to get the Superman role. It took them _years_ to accept me as an actor. All through my twenties I was bartending half the year to make ends meet. Meanwhile, my brothers already had thriving careers.” Joey turns his head, blowing out a long breath as he rests a hand on his forehead. 

“And your brothers...” 

“What about them?” 

“I doubt they care to—”

“No, love,” Henry cuts him off, “I’m telling you, every time I talk to them they ask about you. They’re _excited_ to meet you, alright?” Joey is stricken, unable to move his mouth, and as Henry smooths the hair back from his forehead, he takes a shaky breath, swallowing audibly. Henry stills his hand, and Joey can barely meet the penetrative, focused stare that’s apparent when he’s looking into someone rather than at. _Here it fucking is._

“You think they don’t approve...of _us...together_ …” And the way Henry says it, faltering, as though the words physically hurt; the muscle in his cheek jumps as the tendon in his neck flares. Joey turns his face into the pillow, but of course Henry won’t let him hide for long, and there’s nowhere else to escape; he’s literally pinned. “Joey...” Henry wisps in a voice that would tickle like a thread of gossamer if it weren’t for his current state. “...your family...do they not…?” 

The tears that pool in Joey’s eyes say it all. He clenches his jaw, trying with all his might to keep from blinking, but then Henry does a thing, a sort of raspy, choked off gasp, causing the watery blur in Joey’s vision to clear some as large droplets slide down his cheeks. The hitch in his breath is so drastic that he isn’t sure if it’s himself or Henry who whimpers in response. His only true awareness is that Henry has rolled to the side and gathered him up in his arms. His face is squished into Henry’s neck, where he tries to breath in some comfort and familiarity before his nose completely clogs up. 

“I am _so_ sorry, my sweetest songbird,” he murmurs, running a soothing palm down Joey’s back and using his other hand to comb through messy hair. Joey sighs, trying to wipe his eyes on his shirt sleeve and avoid getting Henry’s bare shoulder all wet. 

“It’s...it’s really just my mum,” he explains shakily. “My sister is wonderful and my dad is fine.” Henry kisses the crown of his head. 

“That’s why you don’t like getting back there, isn’t it?” Joey makes an affirmative noise.

“One of the reasons, at least,” he grumbles. 

“I wasn’t exactly sure, but I...I had a hunch. I wanted you to tell me on your own time, but it makes sense that it happened this way.” Joey sighs. 

“It feels...I feel lighter now...at least,” he admits, albeit feebly. Henry frowns. 

_“God._ All the times I’ve talked about my family and how close we are. I’m sure that didn’t feel good to hear. I’m so sorry.” Joey shakes his head. 

“It’s alright. I—I love hearing about your family and I really do want to meet them. It’s just...when you asked me to get back with you, it...I’m having a hard time grasping that they might...they might actually like me rather than think I’m a disappointment.” Henry’s arms tense up. He pulls away slightly to look Joey in the eye, incredulity written on his face. 

“How could _anyone…”_ Henry shakes his head and Joey knows he’s trying to dislodge his train of thought. “I need to tell you something,” he declares after a beat. Joey gives him a hopeful smile, and he thinks he must look a sight with his face all red and splotchy.

“Then tell me,” he urges. 

“Remember how I made a point to tell all of my brothers about you individually?” Joey nods.

“Well, during those conversations, all four of them, Joey, came to the conclusion that you’re going to be my mum’s favourite son. All you have to do is meet her, be yourself, and apparently I’ll be dethroned immediately.” Joey stays stock-still, head continuing to rest on Henry’s shoulder. He giggles, a delirious little sound. 

“Fuck, darling. I—just being thought of as a _son_ to your mum...It’s hard to even gather that. I mean, my mum is...erm...she’s...well let’s just say I’m definitely not her favourite.” He presses a tiny kiss to Henry’s collarbone, another to the hollow of his throat. 

“It’s your sister, then,” Henry muses. Joey sighs, lifting himself up to meet Henry’s gaze. 

“No darling, it’s actually her prize-winning Pomeranian, Ms. Fanny.” Joey’s smile is wry and Henry gapes at him as though he’s just said something highly offensive. He stares at Joey for a moment and then he’s kissing his way up Joey’s neck all the way to his ear. 

“You know I’m always a gentleman,” he murmurs, “but I’m warning you now, if that woman _ever_ mistreats you in my presence, my love, then I will say it to her face that she’s a fucking cunt.” Joey gasps, a mix of admiration and arousal evident on his face.

“Oh fuck, _darling._ You calling her out like that? I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” Henry chuckles deviously. Joey grabs his hardened cock, stroking a little over his underpants. 

“Okay, enough family chat. You’ve made me proper horny again. I’m going to shower and then you’ll make love to me all over this 1960’s time capsule, yes?” Henry guffaws. 

“Well, not if it’s the ‘60s, I can’t,” he teases. “All we can do is drink and smoke and stare angrily at each other because we’re sexually repressed and can’t do anything about it. We also have to bring our wives into every conversation, you know, to throw each other off.” 

Joey slaps him hard on the bum. 

* * *

He lays indolently on a lounger, so spacious it could pass for a bed, body sinking into the soft cushioning, rooting him to the spot. The sun blazes over the deck, pleasantly warm after a cold swim. It’s silent, save for the quiet hum of the pool filter and gentle lapping of water against the tiled ledge. Joey sighs in contentment and thinks he could maybe fall asleep again if not for the rising thrum of anticipation in his belly. 

He listens to the glass doors open abruptly and his arms break out in goosebumps, breath speeding up a fraction. There’s movement in the water as Henry does a few laps back and forth. Joey reaches across the lounger and bites his lip. He grabs his shirt, a flimsy, dark blue thing, and shrugs his arms into it before doing up the two middle buttons. 

He’s hyper aware of his surroundings, heart rate picking up, cock filling out, knowing what’s to come. Henry emerges from the pool, walking along the stone pavement over to where Joey’s seated. He cracks an eye open, watching through the shade of his sunglasses as Henry quickly pats himself dry. 

Henry crawls up to Joey, straddling his legs. Joey tries with all his might to keep his breath even as water droplets from Henry’s wet curls fall along his bare legs. Henry smirks, knowingly, and Joey hates him for it. He looks on, helplessly as Henry leans forward, planting a biting kiss to his exposed hip bone before releasing the buttons at his sternum and running an index finger above. 

“Hello, famous poet,” Henry murmurs in a honeyed voice, playing with Joey’s thicket of chest hair. _Fuck._ Joey crosses his arms above his head in hopes of hiding the shiver going up his spine, but Henry can see right through him based on his soft chuckle. 

“Hello, famous Witcher,” Joey breathily returns in greeting. Henry leans forward to steal a kiss, but Joey loops his arms over Henry’s shoulders and pulls, causing him to fall forward so their bodies are flush together and Joey groans at the feeling of Henry’s cool, damp skin against his own. Henry circles his tongue with Joey’s, once, twice, and then pulls away, bringing his lips to Joey’s ear. 

“Wanna hear a limerick?” He whispers, all wood smoke and witcher-like. Joey’s cock twitches in his briefs, causing Henry to press his hips down, grinding a little. 

“You’re a dork. Really, some of the things that come out of your mouth,” Joey mutters. “And yet, I’m hard as fucking diamonds.” Henry tugs gently at his earlobe and throws him a haughty sideways look. 

“Lambert,” he recites and then nips at his sternum. “Lambert,” he nips, lower near his belly button. “What a…”he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Joey’s underwear and yanks them down. “Prick…” he breathes out the last line, hot and moist against the engorged appendage. Henry kisses the tip and it grows even more turgid, the head flushed with blood, a large bead of precum threatening to spill. 

“Not bad,” Joey mutters tremulously. His thighs clench and he grips the material of the lounger. Henry smirks. 

“So sensitive, love.” Joey smiles demurely, pulling his shorts the rest of the way down and tossing them aside. He lifts his legs and spreads them, presenting himself to Henry, whose mouth goes slack at the sight of a glass plug nestled inside his puckered hole. 

“Oh,” Henry breathes out shakily, and Joey can tell he’s turned on from being caught unawares by such a sight. “That’s why you took so long in the shower,” He traces his finger around the edge of the plug, circling delicately. “And here I thought it was all because of your face.” Joey rubs a hand along the skin where his beard once was, relishing the smoothness. 

“I’m on a quest, remember?” Henry, now laying on his front with Joey’s legs around his shoulders, grabs the end of the plug, twisting it gently. 

“We, Joey,” he informs him. _“_ _We_ are on a quest and it is a noble one.” 

“The _most_ noble.”

“Yes, and I’m going to do everything I can to fulfill it,” Henry affirms as he continues to coax out the glass toy. He watches the tight ring of muscle spread wide around the fullest part of the plug before it slips out, leaving Joey gaping and glistening with lube. 

“It probably won’t, but it’s always worth a shot. I mean, when it happens to you, _god,”_ Joey shivers,” it’s like you’re being exorcised or something.” Henry leans forward and places a solitary kiss directly to where Joey is primed and ready. He whimpers, eyes turning hooded and lust filled. 

“You’re definitely prepared for it,” Henry soothes, prompting Joey to stand for a moment. They drape a towel over the length of the lounger to protect it and then Joey scrambles on top of Henry to share a heated kiss while he reaches for the lube. He sits himself up, fixing to pour some into his palm to slick Henry’s cock, but a large hand wraps around his wrist, halting him. 

“You’re shaking,” Henry utters in concern. Joey sighs in frustration. 

“I just...I _really_ want it to happen, but I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t care so I won’t think about it,” he quietly explains. Henry tuts. 

“Love, you’ve got to relax. You’ve got to be completely relaxed.” He takes the bottle from Joey’s hand and then nudges him to stand up. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.” 

The bedroom is pleasantly chilled and when he lays prone on the bed, the sheets feel soft against his sun baked skin. Joey turns his head to watch Henry ease the shades down and as they drop, so does his pulse. He settles himself next to Joey on the bed, cracking his knuckles and getting to work. 

“Just stay like that,” He says after giving Joey’s neck and back a thorough massage in an attempt to filter out any residual anxiety. Joey nods, purring from the little kiss Henry presses to his nape and continuing to breathe long and deep. All at once, however, he feels Henry separating his arse cheeks and circling his hole with serpentine movements of the tongue. It’s such a hair trigger sensation that he’s back to being fully hard and desperate enough to cant his hips in search of friction. 

“Nnnggh. _Fuck,”_ he cries into the mattress. Henry removes his tongue, replacing it with a couple fingers to make sure he’s still loose and then the sound of him slicking his cock is piercing in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Turn on your side, love,” Henry instructs. Joey rolls over and straightens one leg while bending the other, bringing his knee towards his chest. Henry lies behind him, gathering him in an embrace and kissing along his shoulder. He takes hold of his cock, sliding it between Joey’s cheeks to tease a little before pressing in. Joey breathes out, keeping his eyes closed, focusing solely on the sensation driven by Henry. When he bottoms out, he splays his hands along Joey’s abdomen and chest as a way to leverage his thrusts. 

He begins at a slow, even tempo, hitching his hips in a way to keep the thrusts shallow until Joey’s breath steadies again and then he’s aiming at a more downward angle to rub at his prostate. Joey’s head lolls forward and he lets out a harsh groan in tandem with Henry, the vibrations of which can be felt along his back. 

“Mmm, yes, there we go. Is this what you wanted?” Henry burrs. Joey reaches out to grope the sheets, but Henry stops him to lace their fingers together instead. 

“Yes. More. Want you to fucking _wreck_ me, darling,” Joey croaks out in a low whine. He can feel the upturn of Henry’s lips against his shoulder. 

“You really are impatient. Haven’t got the slightest idea how you learned all those instruments.” Joey lets out a keening moan on a particularly hard thrust. _Yes, more of that. Give me more._

“Didn’t really,” he pants. “Just picked it up.” Henry manages to scoff between breaths. 

“You did not just...pick up the lute, Joey.” 

“Lute was an accident...now _fuck_ me!” Henry pulls out and turns him over on his back. 

“Legs up here,” he commands, so Joey hooks his legs over Henry’s shoulders and lifts his arms above his head, balancing himself. Henry slides back in and thrusts enthusiastically, slowly lifting up on his knees, raising Joey so his back and pelvis are angled upwards. 

“Fucking cock!” Joey screeches, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head, rosy lips making a perfect “o.”

“Yeah?” Henry trills. Joey swallows hard, breathing out through his nose.

“Y—yes. Oh fuck, yes, like that.” It keeps that way for a while, Henry pistoning his hips downward, along the axis of Joey’s pleasure. 

And then Henry leans forward, arms on either side of Joey’s head to hold himself up. It forces Joey’s legs to bend like an accordion, which isn’t as taxing as he assumed it might be considering he’d been skimping on the yoga as of late. Henry licks the sweat from his neck in a long swipe up to the hinge of his jaw with a deep grunt barreling out of his chest. 

And then something _happens_ — pleasure ripples upward from Joey’s pelvis like a tiny shockwave. He makes a surprised noise and Henry lifts up a bit, face hovering. 

“Good?” He asks. Joey is silent for a moment, contemplating. 

“Yeah, I—it was like a little burst of something, but it went away.” He absentmindedly reaches down towards his aching cock, but Henry stops him. He takes hold of Joey’s wrists and pins them above his head. 

“Don’t touch.”

“But—“

“I know, I know. Just...wait a minute.” Joey bites his tongue, letting out a small whimper. Henry shushes him. Small droplets of sweat fall against Joey and he can smell the musky scent of sex underneath the soap and hint of chlorine on Henry’s skin. It triggers another pleasurable spasm, this one stronger than the last. His abdominal muscles tense up and Henry must feel it because he ramps up the force of his thrusts. 

“Leave then there,” he says in a familiar gritty rumble before letting go of Joey’s wrists to return to an upright position. Joey sucks in a breath, mind suddenly straying to thoughts of his lover in a white wig and yellow contacts when another spasm hits, traveling all the way up to his chest this time. 

_Oh, fuck...wait..._

“H—Henry,” he breathes. “Keep talking like…like...” His cheeks burn and he turns his head to the side, trying to hide despite the fact that the room is doused in pitch. _Fuck. So much for not conflating work with pleasure._

“Spit it out, bard,” Henry growls, rather theatrically in that scratchy voice meant for threatening monsters and men alike. 

“Oh _god..._ we’re doing this,” Joey huffs. “Okay, mmm _,_ fuck me, Witcher. Fuck me...like it’s been months alone on the path and I’m the only whore around.” Henry pounds against his arse, as hard as he can, pushing Joey up the bed with his force, only to grab his hips and pull him right back. Joey is desperate to put his hand on his cock now, gripping the pillows in an attempt to avoid the temptation. 

“And why,” Henry snarls, “would I pay for a sloppy cunt when I have a loudmouth bard who’s more than ready to take my cock so far up his tight little arse it’s in his fucking throat?” 

Joey mewls as the spasms rush through him, accompanied by a tingling heat that floods his chest all the way up to his neck. The pleasure is so blinding, so intense that his eyes start to water and even his goddamn mouth begins to prickle. 

_I think...oh fuck...is this…?_

“H—Henry!” He screeches. _Does he know?_ He’s shaking now and his muscles clench as they shatter in ecstasy.

“Yes, there it is, songbird. _Right there,”_ Henry exclaims in his regular voice, as a thick ribbon of cum bursts forth from Joey’s cock and splatters onto his stomach. 

And then it just sort of...keeps going...and going and Joey’s _yelling_ so loud his throat turns to coarse sandpaper. He’s distantly aware that his cum continues to hit his torso, his pelvis, and surely he should be spent by now, but _oh god it’s—it’s...words...what are they?_ Soon though, the euphoria fades and he _thinks_ he’s done spilling everywhere as he gasps for breath like he’s just run that fucking marathon Henry does every year in Jersey. 

He can hear Henry breathe shallow and harsh through his nose and then he’s letting out a series of short, breaking moans, filling Joey with his seed until he stills and promptly collapses on his side.

Joey continues to twitch with aftershocks as tears pour from his eyes. He tries to hold back little sobs, but his staggering breaths are obvious. Henry scoots closer, resting his face in Joey’s sweat soaked hair. He plants a kiss on his forehead as if to say “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” 

So Joey cries until he can’t anymore. 

When he comes back to himself, he finds his hand twined with Henry’s. He squeezes his palm and Henry’s eyes flutter open, lips curling upwards lazily before he runs his hand through the sticky globs on Joey’s stomach and down further. 

“Fucking hell,” Joey rasps. “That’s _a lot_ of spunk. How—I can’t—has this ever happened to you?” Henry stares at the mess he’s swiped his fingers through, letting it trickle down his knuckles. He shakes his head. 

“Not in real life, no. Even if I go like a week without a wank there’s not _that_ much.” Joey averts his eyes. 

“Fuck. I’m—I’m a little embarrassed.” Henry looks at him in outrage. 

“Are you joking? That was probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. _God,_ that was...I don’t have words for it, love.” 

“Neither do I. ‘s like all the circuitry in my brain’s been rewired. I fear I shall never fully recover.” Henry chuckles and then kisses Joey square on the mouth before getting to his feet, pulling him along so they can shuffle over to the shower before anything drips on the floor. 

Under the warm spray of the water, Joey’s got his arms crossed behind Henry’s neck as he leans back against the tile and lets him run a soapy flannel along his front. He sighs in contentment and thinks about how rare it is to feel so calm and collected. He twists and plays absentmindedly with the rings that adorn his right hand. 

“So...now will you _finally_ admit that Geralt does it for you?” Joey groans and hides his face against Henry’s shoulder. 

“You _know_ he does. You’ve always known,” he says, muffled. 

“Okay, listen,” Henry says seriously, clearing his throat. Joey lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve been incredibly patient about this, but there’s something I’ve wanted to do and I think you might be on board now.” 

“What?” Joey asks in alarm, still holding onto his rings. Henry smirks and licks his lips.

“At some point during production, when the time is right, I want you to fuck me while I’m in wig and makeup.” Joey’s eyes bug out comically. 

“Fuck. I want it, but there’s no way Jackie’s going to let you take those wigs off set. They’re basically her children.” Henry leans closer, lips brushing Joey’s. 

“I wasn’t planning on taking them off set, my love.” Joey startles at the implication. He places, onto his left ring finger, one of the rings he accidentally pulled off. He twirls it around and around, glimpsing it over Henry’s shoulder, doing a double take. 

_Huh. Well. That feels...good...really good. Top fucking notch..._

“What’s that look for?” Henry implores, snatching him from his thoughts. Joey quickly slips the ring back in its usual place. 

“Erm, I’m just thinking it might be a bit risque, darling,” he lilts. “But, I suppose if we’re doing this I’ll wear one of the hats then.” Henry groans, rubbing himself against Joey. “Maybe the one with the really big plume, hm?”

“Fuck yes,” Henry sighs. 

“And then you can fuck my face and watch the feather swish back and forth,” Joey mumbles conspiratorially. Henry’s cock surges upward, bobbing against Joey’s hip, his eyes hooded with lust, mouth agape. Joey smirks. “When we’re done in here, I think I’d like to sing the new song for you and then maybe suck your cock, yeah?” 

Henry immediately shuts off the water, despite the fact that there’s still some residual soap on their skin. 

“We’re done,” he says, hauling Joey out of the shower and dragging him sopping wet into the bedroom. 

* * *

Outside is an endless stretch of black, save for the glaring headlights of the vehicles that overtake them in the other lane due to Ditsy’s incompetence; she can only go so fast before throwing a royal fit. Joey is slumped over in the tiny back seat, using Kal’s hindquarters as a pillow while the beast’s front half is wedged between the driver and front passenger seats. Henry’s hand rests on his fluffy head, giving him extra love and attention as they’re reunited. 

Madeleine recounts the time she and Joey went to New York and how they were thrown out of a pub because he got into a bit of a scuffle while defending her honor. Eventually, they stumbled over to a cabaret where she spent the rest of the night singing Eartha Kitt until she passed out in her heels and Joey had to carry her home in his arms.

“That’s quite a romantic story if you think about it,” Henry points out. She giggles in a low tone that reminds Joey of hushed voices in a speakeasy. 

“We can be rather romantic, especially when performing. It’s just our way, I suppose.” It’s quiet then and Joey forces his breath to stay even, pretending he’s still asleep. 

“You two have an...interesting relationship. You know that right? It may not be sexual, but it’s...there’s something about it.” Madeleine clears her throat. 

“It can be hard to put into words. It’s like, think of all the ways you love Joey and then take away the sexual part of it. What are you left with?” 

“Erm, that’s—I can sort of see it, but it’s completely intertwined for me.” 

“Do you ever just look at him while he’s doing something mundane and, I dunno, like muttering to himself and then you’ve got a little flutter in your chest because he’s just being _him?”_ Henry nods.

“Constantly,” he whispers. “But then it often turns sexual. I mean, it’s _usually_ sexual.” Madeleine giggles again. 

“Yes I know. I live with him and even though he thinks he’s being sneaky, I know exactly when you two are doing something naughty over video.” Joey has to sink his teeth into his lip to keep from laughing while Henry mutters some sort of awkward apology. “It’s alright, dear. Headphones do the trick, but what I was getting at is that if you think about how you feel right before it turns sexual, that’s about how it is with me and Joey.” Henry hums in acknowledgement. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you directly, but does it...does it ever bother you that he and I are together?” Madeleine snorts at his sheepishness. 

“Oh god, sorry. That was rude of me, but, erm, like not _at all._ I’m so happy for him. When I see him with you my heart just soars.” Henry is quiet again. Joey considers “waking up,” but then Henry is whispering something so soft that he can’t make out the words over Ditsy’s loudmouth engine. Madeleine scoffs and it sounds like she’s hit him on the arm or something.

“It has nothing to do with _you._ And no, you do not make me ‘weak in the knees,’ you arse!” Her voice is pitched abnormally high and Joey thinks she might strain her vocal cords if she keeps it up. Just as he’s about to make his conscious presence known, a loud spluttering noise like that of an old jalopy interrupts him. Despite Madeleine’s best efforts, the little yellow bug begins to slow and soon they’re stopped on the side of the road. 

Madeleine and Henry are already out of the cab with the hood open, Kal on high alert in the front seat with his head stuck out the window. He can smell smoke rising from the engine and then Madeleine’s grabbing their water bottles from inside. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s alright,” Henry coos from under the hood. Joey sits up finally, concerned. He unbuckles himself and just as he’s about to step outside to make sure Madeleine is alright, he hears Henry, in the softest, sweetest voice say, “You’ll be just fine. I’m just going to cool you down a little, see?” And he can hear the water sizzle as it comes in contact with the overheated engine. 

Joey breathes, in and out, in and out. He counts down from five and then yells at the top of his lungs, “DITSY! You fucking attention whore!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please let me know whether or not this was a total clusterfuck. I'm on the fence.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m quietly lurking over [here](http://margaretheavesasigh.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and I would very much like to be shouted at. Thank you.


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